


Broken

by mercurybard



Series: Prison Break before the prison [5]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurybard/pseuds/mercurybard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln doesn't always understand his brother, but he loves him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "John Doe". Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break. I have a rather love/hate relationship with the show. Since I'm borrowing the characters for my own nefarious (but non-profit) purposes, I think we're in a "love" phase.

Crammed together on the same lumpy motel mattress, Kellerman in the other bed by himself, and Michael was only pretending to sleep. His breathing was slow and regular, his posture limp as a wet noodle, but he couldn't fool his brother.

Rolling over, Lincoln put his lips right next to his brother's ear and rumbled, "If you were planning to wait until I fell asleep to steal the bullets out of my gun, it's not going to happen."

The muscles in Michael's back tensed for a split second, betraying him. "I wasn't," he whispered back.

Neither of them believed it.

Michael's hatred of guns was something that went way back to the year before LJ was born and a couple of crazy, strung-out roommates who had the bad habit of getting violent when wasted. He used to steal the bullets out of the gun they kept under the couch and squirrel them away.

"You and guns…bad things always happen."

The sudden sensation of lightness at the small of Lincoln's back when the gun was grabbed. Steadman's blood all over the wall of the cabin. Farther back, the feel of metal chilled by an icy Chicago night. The moment of horror when he realized the man he'd gone to kill was already dead.

But he hadn't been dead at all. He'd just been tucked away safely in a mansion in the middle of nowhere.

He'd watched Veronica die.

"It's like she's not dead. The way you act." Linc didn't need to say who. They both knew. "I thought you loved her too."

Michael finally turned his head to look at his brother, and Lincoln was thankful that the small, harsh light of the alarm clock wasn't enough to illuminate his eyes. In the dark, they were just black holes in Michael's head. Holes couldn't share pain barely held in check. "Almost as much as you." His voice was curiously dead in the darkness, devoid of emotion…almost robotic.

"Then why don't you act like it?" he demanded, suddenly more angry at his brother than he had any right to be. This was Michael, for God's sakes—the guy who'd thrown away his entire life to save Lincoln's. The man who hadn't shed a damn tear for V.

He could feel Michael clench his hands, stuffed up under the pillow they both shared. The gun was under there too, shoved up near the headboard, an awkward shaped lump under Lincoln's left ear. "I can't…can't afford to," Michael finally answered, his voice shaky. "Linc, if I stop now… If I lose my concentration—it'll all fall apart, and we'll both end up dead, and all of this will be for nothing."

Veronica's death would be for nothing. He didn't have to say it, but it hung there in the narrow space between them, and Lincoln felt his anger slip right through his fingers just like everything else in his damned life.

Reaching out an arm, Lincoln hauled his little brother closer, pinning Michael to his chest and rubbing a hand over his back, like he'd done when they were little and Michael had bad dreams. He went rigid first but then slowly relaxed as his breath got shakier. Finally, a quiet sob escaped, and Linc could feel his shoulder getting damp as Michael finally let himself cry.


End file.
